Hogwarts, A History
by SpellboundWriter
Summary: Continuation of "Returning Home". Marcy through her years at Hogwarts. Expect new villians, new adventures, new romances, and the final understanding of her past
1. The Sorting Hat

AN: It seems, or at least lately, that I've been having extreme writer's block when it comes to stories that are on continuance. But this story happened to come to me late the other night, and I'm in **love **with it.

I suppose you could call it the sequel to "Returning Home". It's the story of Marcy's years at Hogwarts. I'm not really sure how I'm going to go about writing this, whether its going to be 1 chapter per year or a few chapters per year. I want to have a few sneak peaks into the life of Ginny and Draco after the whole scenario in "Returning Home", whether through flashbacks or letters or something. I don't really know yet. But please, stick around, because I'm really excited that I got this off the ground.

**Disclaimer**: The characters of this story, or at least the non-canon characters, are indeed mine. Marcy, Michael, Andrew: They are all mine. But everything they are involved in, this entire plot, everything that has come from this plot, it is the property of the wonderful J.K.Rowling. As I have said a million times, my fan fiction is the result of me twiddling my thumbs until 7/16/05

**Personal Disclaimer:** If you do not ready "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes" and "Returning Home" I am afraid you will be HIGHLY confused throughout this story. Please read those first.

ONWARD:

The Hogwarts Express was exactly as Michael had spent the summer describing it to be, and yet nothing could have prepared Marcy Malfoy for her first sighting of it on platform 9 and ¾. It was the color of burgundy wine and was etched in wonderful chrome that shined in the midday sun. The entire steam engine looked as if it had been swept down with grease until it was gleaming; even the billowing clouds of soot looked picture perfect against the unusually blue London sky. Marcy smiled and brushed a piece of her long strawberry blonde hair out of her face as she studied the magnificent machine, her cobalt and mercury eyes skimming it with newfound awe.

What had surprised her, something Michael had failed to warn her about, was the amount of people on the platform. For a platform that seemed to only appear after running head first into a barrier, it held a large quantity of people regardless of its seemingly miniscule size. There were hundreds of people all around her wheeling metallic trolleys holding trunks, owls, and other different addends. Many families made up the busy crowd, most of them including mothers crying into handkerchiefs and bidding goodbye to their children (most of which appeared to be her age). Other larger groups were huddled in corners, laughing and giggling over the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler (two of the wizarding worlds' most popular printed newspapers, Hermione had informed her). She herself had arrived to the platform only moments before with Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, and Michael, but Michael had already made his disappearing act into a large group of bubbling teenagers a few meters away.

"Now Marcy…" Ron knelt as if to say something but Hermione shushed him, pulling him back properly to his feet and stepping forward herself to be in line with Marcy's face. Hermione pulled back a piece of the girl's strawberry blonde and tucked it behind her ear, brushing the side of the girl's face as if to remove dirt. She skimmed her hands down the front of Marcy's blouse, smoothing out imperfections that seemed as if they were only visible to a mother's eye. Hermione smiled, tears beckoning her large brown eyes, and she kissed Marcy tentatively on the forehead.

"Have a good year." She whispered before pulling away to lean into Ron's arms, waving just a bit as Marcy took her trolley and headed for the Hogwarts Express, for it was exactly 11 o'clock.

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"Hey…Hey you!" A small boy with hair the color of cornstalks shouted at Marcy as she clanked along the train, looking for a compartment. When she finally stopped and turned to look at him, she realized he was shorter than her and he was missing two teeth in the front, "You looking for a spot?" He asked out of breath, "Because we have room in here…come on!" He grabbed at her trunk and pulled her by her wrist into the closest compartment.

The compartments were relatively small. The doors were made of painted glass, the seats a wonderful forest green velvet, and the floors were carpeted in a lovely design of moving flying beasts. A mermaid was smiling up at her as she was plopped down next to a girl with hair similar to Lillian's who barely looked up at her from the book she was reading. The cornstalks boy sat across from her and immediately took off his overcoat, throwing it on a pile of other things in the corner. A very small kitten was sitting on the seat next to him, napping in the growing midday sun.

"I'm Charlie." The boy spoke quickly, smiling just a bit, "I'm from Kilkenny."

"Nice to meet you Charlie from Kilkenny. I'm Marcy. From Ottery St. Catchpole." The words rolled off her tongue as if she had always lived there and she smirked a bit, crossing her arms across her chest.

"That is Abigail." He whispered, pointing to the ebony haired girl sitting next to Marcy, "She's not normally this quiet, at home she's usually bubbling about…"

"…that's because at _home _Charlie I'm usually entertaining you. Seems as if here you finally found someone else to keep you company." Her voice, although tinted with sarcasm and bitterness, was elegant and seemed to fill the compartment. She dropped the book she had been reading, _A_ _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch, on the seat and turned to look directly at Marcy, "Charlie is just being a child, the name is Abbie, don't call me anything otherwise."

To say that Abbie was simply pretty wasn't giving her justice. Her ebony hair, which was tied back by a single purple ribbon, framed her extremely pale skin but was off-set by a slight blush to her cheek bones and the rosy color of her lips. Her eyes, which Marcy at first hadn't noticed, were the color of lilacs and seemed to sparkle. Marcy looked self consciously at her own hair, which was falling about her face haphazardly. For an 11 year old, Abbie put everyone else to shame.

"You two are brother and sister?" Marcy asked, trying to concentrate on something other than her own self esteem.

"Twins actually." Charlie beamed.

"It's our first year here. Mum was so excited when we got our Hogwarts letters." Abbie replied with refinement, folding her hands against her lap, "Do you have any siblings Marcy?"

"A brother Julian."

"That's rather nice. Are you excited about learning to be a witch? Mother helped me buy my first wand and everything." Charlie quipped, pulling a long piece of wood from his pile of things on the floor, "Look its rosewood and has a core of dragon heartstring."

Marcy was about to ask to see a few spells when a portly witch pulled up to the compartment, pushing a rather large trolley that was piled with foods of different sizes and shapes. Big billowing clouds of pastel smoke were coming from every direction and the witch smiled a rather toothy grin at the three passengers.

"Want anything from the trolley dears?"

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It was a hat, a horribly patched old hat with rather long ties that called a rickety wooden stool its home. It was sitting at the front of what had been called "The Great Hall" underneath spotlights that were being cast from an enchanted ceiling. Or at least that was what Abbie had called it, for Marcy hadn't the smallest clue what "enchantments" really were and wasn't about to ask. Abbie had said she had read about it. An aging witch with tiny glasses and a very pointed nose (regardless of it all, she looked like a woman not to be crossed) had said the hat was "extremely important, an artifact of noble history". Marcy couldn't understand the logic behind an old wizard's hat being important, but from the anxious whispers about her, others must have understood the hat's purpose.

"Charlie what is that thing?" She asked, pointing at the hat.

"That? That would be the sorting hat. Hogwarts has used it for years to sort the first years into the houses." He turned to the back of the hall and pointed one by one at the extremely long tables that were at the moment full of teenagers, all looking anxiously to the front of the room, "See? There's Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor." Marcy smiled as she remembered the things Andrew had told her about Gryffindor and sure enough, sitting at the middle of the table talking with friends, she could just make out the light brown mop of hair that belonged to Andrew Potter. She could feel a bit of crimson rising to her cheeks as she turned away from him and smiled to herself. Although she wouldn't tell anyone, she hoped that (however the thing went about it) the hat would put her into Gryffindor.

The hat was singing now. Really singing. Many of the students about her were staring at it in awe and giggling, so it was almost impossible to hear its song, but it seemed rather joyful anyway. The older witch that had brought it into the room hushed the crowd as it finished and pulled a long roll of paper out of her robes (Ron and Hermione had finally showed Marcy what _true _wizards wore) and allowed it to fall to the floor, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

"When I call your name you are to rise, allow the hat to rest upon your head, and as one of the houses is called out you will join your housemates along the sides of the room. Please, the rest of you, be courteous as your fellow schoolmates are sorted." She cleared her throat before thumbing down to the first name on the list, "Boot, Laurie". A small girl with mousey brown hair rose from the crowd and sat upon the stool, shoving the hat down onto her head. The room seemed to grow quiet as a face appeared on the old hat, its lips moving about as if it was mumbling to itself.

RAVENCLAW!

"Brown, Tallie"

HUFFLEPUFF!

"Creevy, Justin"

GRYFFINDOR!

"Edgecombe, Marcellus"

HUFFLEPUFF!

"Kent, Patricia"

SLYTHERIN!

"Lawson, Abigail". Marcy gave the girl a hearty hug before she went to the front of the room and placed herself rather daintily against the stool, smoothing out her hair and her robes before allowing the hat to fall against the crown of her head. It seemed to think only a minute before it shouted loudly…

GRYFFINDOR!

"Lawson, Charlie". The old witch read as Abbie gave Marcy a large thumbs up before sitting herself down next to Justin Creevy.

GRYFFINDOR!

Marcy beamed as Charlie too made his way over to the Gryffindor table, giving his sister a rough punch on the shoulder before sitting across from her and collapsing against the table.

"Marcy Malfoy"

The room grew abnormally quiet for the briefest of seconds as Marcy made her way to the front of the room. Even the witch seemed to stare at her with the utmost confusion as she sat down on the stool, pulling the horribly patched and slightly moldy hat down onto her head. Everyone seemed to be concentrating on her, or to be more exact, the moving lips on her head. It seemed then that she could hear the hat talking to her, saying things that no one else in the room could understand.

_Yes...yes...I wondered when I would see a Malfoy in my school again...it was only a matter of time...but where to put you. You have everything the Malfoys' have always had: strength, presence, darkness, a need to prove yourself, a want for power...but there's something else, something right underneath the surface. You're mother was...no...it couldn't be...**ANOTHER **Weasley? Well regardless of the Slytherin blood in you, I cannot break tradition..._

**GRYFFINDOR!**

Marcy smiled and stepped off the stool but unlike the children before her, she was not greeted with a short burst of applause. Instead the entire audience of students began to whisper excitedly, some pointing at her while others simply stared. She searched the Gryffindor table for Charlie and Abbie and, upon finding them, seated herself next to Charlie. The entire Gryffindor table was staring at her, most of them with their jaws hanging open. Michael and Andrew, although not close enough to directly talk to her, were smiling on slightly as if trying to pretend they weren't really pleased for her. Hadn't Andrew told her over the summer that he _hoped _she was in Gryffindor? That it was…indeed…the best house?

"Why didn't you tell us you were a Malfoy? On the train?" Charlie asked; bewilderment inscribed on has face. Abbie was staring at her as well, her lilac eyes mixed with something that mirrored puzzlement.

"I didn't think it was a big deal." Marcy replied, obviously confused, "I mean…my father is Draco Malfoy but…I…I didn't know…"

"Oh…being a Malfoy is **quite **a big deal." An older boy responded from his place two down from Charlie, an ugly scowl stamped across his face, "My father was a few years older than _Draco Malfoy, _and believe me he was no saint in school. His father was a Death Eater you know, one of those people that followed _You-Know-Who _around like a lap dog." A few people gasped around her, some refusing to meet her eye. She noticed Andrew stand up from his place at the middle of the table and move towards her, gripping her shoulder when he reached her side.

"Come on Erik, she isn't her father…" Andrew spoke, his voice full of concern.

"She obviously isn't!" Abbie spoke, her lilac eyes blazing with a mix of puzzlement and utter amazement, "It talks all about it in _Hogwarts: A History. _Certain families have always been sorted into certain places. The Black's, other than Sirius, were always in Slytherin. The Chang's were always in Ravenclaw. So on and so forth." She stopped, as if to gather more people to listen to her, and then continued, "The Malfoy's have been sorted into Slytherin since the beginning of Hogwarts itself. That is…until you Marcy. You're the first Malfoy sorted out of Slytherin in over a century."


	2. Quidditch Tryouts

Marcy Malfoy barely looked up from her Potion's assignment as she heard the portrait hole open and close. She was seated in the largest armchair in the common room, her books thrown lazily around her and her feet pulled up underneath the hem of her school skirt. It was an extremely hot day for the middle of October and she could not help but sigh as she ran a hand across her already sweaty brow.

_Second Year texts are not supposed to be this hard, _she thought angrily.

"Marcy are you _still _working on that essay?" A voice from behind her rang out, causing her to jump a bit and spill her ink across the parchment.

"Not anymore," she growled angrily, throwing the parchment into the fire. Things were simply not going to go her way.

"Honestly," the girl spoke as she sat down next to Marcy and began rummaging through her things for a wand to stop the parchment from burning. Marcy smiled; Abbie was always doing things of the sort for her. It had been more than obvious the year prior that Abbie would turn out to be the brightest witch of her year. She was pretty, brilliant, and a master with a wand. Many envied her; Marcy considered herself lucky to have her as a friend. It meant better homework grades and great companionship. She looked up again at Abbie as she ran her hands across the newly restored parchment, crinkling her nose every few seconds as she found errors and other things she did not like.

She began to correct things as the portrait hole opened again and Charlie, Abbie's twin brother, stepped into the room. For twins the two looked nothing alike; Charlie had bright yellow hair and Abbie's was the color of the midnight sky. Abbie was petite and Charlie was bulky. Abbie excelled in all of her classes; Charlie struggled miserably sometimes.

"Why do you always help Marcy with things and never me?" Charlie joked, falling into a seat next to Marcy, "You know sis, we're supposed to stick together. Family and all. Here you are selling secrets to the enemy. What is up with you?" he joked, prodding the girl with his finger. She scowled as she crossed another line off Marcy's paper and filled in something with a quill.

"Honestly Charlie, if you actually tried I might be more willing to help you," she retorted, giving him a harsh glare out of the corner of her eye, "besides, Marcy needs to practice for Quidditch."

Marcy gulped as she watched Charlie's face contort from one of befuddlement to one of absolute joy. She knew that he had always enjoyed Quidditch although he was not all that good at it himself. She also knew that he envied the broom that was lying upstairs under her bed. Her father had sent it to her, telling her to use it to be just as great as he had been. However, she had still been contemplating the idea. Aunt Hermione, her surrogate mother, did not seem to really enjoy the sport. She had spent much of the previous summer dishing out horror stories of long-winded games and horrible injuries. Marcy was not so sure anymore if playing was worth it; she was not even sure if she was good at the game anyway.

"Are you really trying out?" Charlie practically screamed, jumping out of his seat.

"Possibly…"

"Marcy I've seen you fly, you're a natural! You really should, I'm sure you'd make the team…Andrew plays on it…" At the mention of Andrew's name Marcy felt a blush creep up the apples of her cheeks. Andrew Potter was one of the few older students within Gryffindor tower that really talked to her, other than her cousin, and she could normally be seen roaming the halls with him between classes. She had learned early on that he was what a lot of girls considered to be 'cute', with his bright hazel eyes and fly away hair. He was popular, smart, and a fantastic seeker. Somewhere in her daydream she had tuned out Charlie for he was now staring at her peculiarly with a bit of smirk on his face. If it was possible her cheeks turned an even brighter color as she hid her face in her hands. She could hear Abbie laugh slightly as she put Marcy's parchment back on top of her stack of books.

A clamoring of footsteps on the stairs pulled Marcy out of her humiliation for just the briefest of seconds before she realized who was coming down. Michael, her rather quiet but rambunctious live-in cousin and Andrew were marching down, followed by a group of giggling third years. Marcy rolled her eyes as a few of the girls swooned over Andrew's backside. Sure, she would admit it was something interesting to look at, but there were more important things in life. Looking down at the Potions' assignment, Marcy growled. Potions was definitely not one of them.

"Hey Mar," came Andrew's voice from her left side as he sat on top of her books. His entourage took off as he sat down; running out the portrait hole with a group of whispered giggles and shrieks. Abbie laughed before grabbing Charlie and moving to the stairs. Charlie seemed rather irritated by being forced to leave, but mouthed 'let's practice later' and followed his sister rather grudgingly. Michael gave Andrew a slight nod before leaving, flashing a smile at Marcy, "How is second year treating you?"

"As well as can be I suppose. Professor Slughorn doesn't really appreciate how much I slack off."

"It's okay. I slack off all the time," he laughed. His face grew serious as he placed a hand over hers affectionately and she stared at him curiously. Although they were good friends and spent time together between classes, he rarely showed his emotions during off hours. She understood; she was a 2nd year, and he was 5th year. They had a lot of things between them, "So Mar, I have to ask, are you trying out for the team this year?" he asked.

"I…I was thinking about it."

"You really should. You're good. I've seen you play in our secret place before. We have an opening for Chaser and Keeper. You could probably make either. I'll see you at tryouts tomorrow?" He smiled at her before moving his hand, making her feel slightly empty from the lack of heat, "I should really get going. We're having boys night tonight, and I think Michael and Erik will get mad if I'm not there. Catch you around Mar?"

She smiled at the nickname, one that she had reserved for him and him alone, "Yeah. I'll see you at tryouts."

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Marcy had never seen so many Quidditch players in her life. True, many of them were first years who were not even sure of how to get on top of their brooms correctly, but the sheer mass of people trying out for the Gryffindor team was unbelievable. She could see in the distance a few older players tossing a Quaffle around and another group attempting to keep a Snitch from flying away from a circle. Closer to her, Marcy observed a group of third years putting on rather large gloves that resembled gauntlets and two or three girls she was sure were in Ravenclaw strapping on oddly dyed Gryffindor scarves. She laughed to herself.

Putting her things on the slightly damp ground, Marcy began to lace up the boots Uncle Ron had slipped into her bag without her Aunt knowing. They had been her mother's and he had shrunken them down to fit around her rather tiny feet. They were warm and comfortable, with well used leather padding and just the right amount of bounce. Although she would be trying out for the Keeper position, not the Chaser position, she was sure they would bring her just a bit of luck.

Andrew, who had been flying around above her, landed with a loud thump on top of her things, holding a clip board full of names. He gave her a supportive smile and pat on the back before walking into the center of the pitch and yelling loudly, "Alright alright, let's get this show on the road! I need you to separate into groups, Chasers on the left side of the field, Keepers on the right. Oh and you all," he pointed at the group of faux Gryffindors, "Go to your own tryouts please."

Marcy laughed as they huffily picked up their things and left, then moved to her position on the right side of the field. There were considerably less players trying out for Keeper than for Chaser and, with a quick survey, she felt rather content. The two boys to her left were both first years and rather inadequate when it came to handling brooms. There was a boy on her right that looked slightly intimidating, but the nasty scowl he gave Andrew and the other current players gave her the distinct impression that he would not make the team, no matter how he turned out to play. But it was the girl directly in front of her that felt the most intimidating. She was stocky, much taller than her, and with a definite athleticism to her stance. Her large gloves were covered with dings from obvious use and her hair was pulled back taunt in a rough looking bun. Marcy grimaced. The tryout was not going to go as simply as she thought.

A boy named Jonathan led the Keeper tryouts, much to Marcy's dismay. He seemed rather tough, as he dismissed a giggling group of girls off to Marcy's left and the two first years without even seeing them fly. He had looked over Marcy and the two other players with a bit of disinterest before giving them numbers. Marcy was third.

"You will fly into the air and take your position in front of the rings. Our two senior Chasers will begin to throw at you, attempting to score. They will throw a total of 15 balls. Your score will be tallied based on how many you successfully block. It's mathematics; the one with the most saved goals wins. Number one, Ian McLaster," he said, staring at the pompous boy, "You are first. Give us a signal when you're ready."

Marcy watched, almost dumbstruck, as the boy took to the air. He circled the three rings once before putting up his hand for the chasers. Almost immediately they began to throw at him, one Quaffle right after the other, in the most obscure directions possible. She thought for a second that he would be thrown from his broom when he dove harshly to the left, but his only repercussion was two scored goals. He looked rather annoyed as he came down, having blocked only 13. Jonathan smiled a wicked smile at him and waved him to the bleachers as he called up Imelde, the stocky girl Marcy had been afraid of. She blocked 14 goals with absolute ease, jumping off the broom at the end with a smirk in Marcy's direction.

"Good luck, 2nd year," Imelde laughed in her ear.

"Go ahead number three, Marcy Malfoy," Jonathan announced, looking at her for the first time with a bit of trepidation. Marcy had not accounted her father's name into a possible incident amongst the Quidditch Captains. She shuddered and mounted her broom, flying around the rings three times.

A look into the crowd showed her that the Chaser tryouts had finished and Andrew was sitting patiently in the bleachers with Abbie and Charlie, staring up at her. He flashed her a golden smile and she could just make out Charlie yelling 'Come on Marcy!' up at her. Her confidence grew as she raised her hand into the air, and let it fall to her side.

The Quaffles started coming almost instantly. She felt the end of her broom tap one, two, three away from the left ring, and her hand was able to bat away four, five, six from the center. She dove to the right for seven, eight, and narrowly caught nine in time to wing it back to the ground for a nice smash on ten. She flew high to bat away eleven, twelve, and dove low for thirteen. Fourteen was high above her head and, although she caught it, she slipped from the broom and ended up upside down, dangling by her feet, with fourteen in her hands as fifteen came barreling forward.

Pushing with her ankles as hard as she could, Marcy moved the broom just enough to the right and, with all she had, hurdled fourteen at fifteen, bouncing it out of its path. The ground cheered as fifteen landed on the ground and Marcy righted herself on her broom, flying down to meet the judges. She smiled as she came to the Pitch, jumping into Charlie's arms and giving Abbie a large hug as she hopped off her broom. Imelde was scowling at her. Ian had already left. Jonathan, who had been holding a clip board similar to Andrew's, handed her a bunch of papers.

"Marcy, that was the most unorthodox Quidditch tryout we have ever seen," he started, smiling in a fashion she had not seen all day, "But maybe we need a bit of unorthodox around here. Here is your paperwork. Welcome to the Gryffindor team."


	3. Summertime Blues

The sun shone bright on the Burrow on the 31st of August, smattering across the low level trees and the gardens that housed gnomes and other wild things. Andrew Potter sat on a hammock his Uncle had charmed into two trees in "The Secret Place", a light summer breeze blowing into his hair. There was only a day left until he departed for his sixth year at Hogwarts and, although there was plenty packing to be done, he had needed a bit of time to escape and think.

He had arrived at the Burrow at the beginning of the summer. His father had said it had always been a part of his childhood and had felt very 'funny' being away from it. Andrew did not mind much, his best friend and surrogate cousin Michael lived there and he could spend as much time as he wanted flying or swimming. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron hosted lavish dinner parties every night and (every once in awhile) some of Uncle Ron's siblings would show up and set up firework displays. Not to count it had been his childhood home and he valued his secret places and the serenity of magic very much.

Marcy Malfoy was the problem. Well, if Andrew was to be honest with himself, it was her family more than her. He got along with her fine at school. In fact, although she was only 13 and he would be 16 soon, they got along perfectly. She did not follow him around the Gryffindor common room or giggle annoyingly whenever he said something foolish. When he said something foolish she merely smacked him or took the mickey out of him. He liked that. Andrew had always admired people who were down to earth, like his father and Uncle Ron. No, Marcy was not the problem. It was not even her family. It was just her mother.

Ginny Malfoy was a woman Andrew could never quite understand. She was feisty but reserved. She enjoyed arguing but ran away whenever she gained the chance. She lived in the Muggle world and yet she was a witch at heart. She had abandoned her child. He had watched her walk out on Marcy when they were younger. He had heard, late at night, how his father spoke of her leaving her husband too. She got a sick pleasure from deserting everyone that cared about her and Andrew could not stand it.

She had left Julian, Marcy's now 11 year old brother, in the care of his Aunt and Uncle for the summer. Ginny had promised she would return at the conclusion and take Julian to Hogwarts herself, that she would support him and bring him up in the wizarding world; a gift she had refused to bestow before. But it was already late, and Andrew highly doubted her arrival.

"Andrew?" A voice boomed across his secret place and the whoosh of a broom could be heard through the trees. He turned on his side to see his sister, Lillian, landing amongst a pile of leaves he had created earlier. Her hair was flying about and her cheeks were tinted a rose color, "What are you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said.

"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist!" She giggled. The phrase had been a favorite of his Uncle's and Lillian had picked it up at the beginning of the summer. She used it continuously, even when terribly inappropriate. Sometimes he wondered if he liked it better when the girl did not talk, "I know you like to be alone here. I just don't feel like being yelled at by mum and Auntie Hermione because you are no where to be found."

"I'll be down soon," he replied.

"Well, hurry up. They hate to be kept waiting. Plus, Uncle Draco just arrived."

Andrew missed Lillian's exit as he puzzled over the new bit of information. He had not seen his Uncle in a very long time. It was rumored that him and Ginny had not worked out quite as expected after going off into the Muggle world to remake their family. As far as he knew, Draco lived close to Diagon Alley in a small apartment while Ginny continued to live in Manchester with Julian. He had not even heard from his Uncle since the unexpected arrival of Marcy's new broom, and even that had merely consisted of a note and a few galleons. Hopping down off of the hammock, Andrew grabbed his own broom and flew down towards the Burrow. He was sure the afternoon would suddenly become interesting.

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"THAT ISN'T FAIR!" yelled Marcy Malfoy, slamming her hands down on the small table in the Weasley dining room. She stared at her father angrily, her blue eyes ablaze as they locked on his, "she promised!"

"Things don't always work out Marcy. Sometimes things don't go as planned. For now you are simply going to have to live with this," Draco responded, running fingers through his now long blonde hair. He hated speaking to his daughter this way. He wanted to run to her, to tell her he disliked this predicament as much as she did. He wanted a lot of things, but two long wars and a divorce later he had learned that wanting things rarely got you anywhere. He smiled weakly at his daughter and attempted to reach out to touch her but she pushed him away, stomping into the kitchen and out onto the patio. I'm sorry, he yelled in her wake. He was sure she did not hear him.

Marcy screamed loudly as she plopped onto the soft grass outside the Burrow, folding her legs underneath her body as she started to pull on the blades harshly. She pulled harder and harder, piece by piece, before throwing them all angrily into the air around her. Some floated back to the ground. Others landed in her hair. She kept on pulling.

It was in that state that Andrew came upon her, hoping to come in on the end of a family discussion. He had not been expecting the scene in front of him. Marcy had told him a long time ago that she had always had a temper as a child and always enjoyed fighting and breaking things to solve her problems. He had not known grass had been part of the equation.

"Mar, you alright?" he asked, sitting beside her. Her skin shined with beads of sweat and her knuckles were red from holding her hands in fists. As she flung the grass he could see the nail marks in her palms from squeezing. He gripped her wrists and made her fall against him. The sound of tears followed, "Mar?"

"They…they…oh," said Marcy, sniffling loudly, "Julian is coming to Hogwarts."

Andrew was overcome with surprise. Did Marcy not want Julian at Hogwarts? From what he had heard, they were relatively close, "Mar…I…did something happen between you and Julian?"

"Not at all!" she said, sputtering a bit on the words, "But you see, he's coming because he's going to live with Daddy!" She started to sob into his shirt and Andrew felt distinctly uncomfortable. He had acquired his father's innate dislike of dealing with hysterical girls. It was always so…wet.

"And…?" He asked. He hoped it was not a stupid question.

"He's living with Daddy because him and Mum are…are…" she groaned, "They are splitting up." Andrew gasped, almost forcefully, before letting his fingers fall to play with Marcy's hair. If he was to be honest with himself, he had seen this coming. Draco Malfoy was a prominent businessman since his return from Romania and Russia. He helped his own father with settlements in the Quidditch industry (his father having quit the Auror business following his escape two years earlier). He was a typical bachelor. Draco had wealthy contributors in the Wizarding World and would never have left it to live among muggles. Marcy's mother was not so secure. Andrew was not even sure why they had become a pair to begin with, he knew his own father did not understand it much. It had probably been coming all along.

"Mar I'm sorry. Why…"

"Daddy said it was not working. That Mum wouldn't compromise. She refused to live here. Even if he gave her a bigger house. Can you believe that? Why would someone not want to live here?" She got suddenly quiet and he could sense tears were flowing again because she whispered, barely audible, "Why doesn't she want me?"

"Mar she…she wants you." Andrew tried to sound reassuring, but he could not quite trust the truth in his own voice, "So her and your dad didn't work out. That happens sometimes, ya know? One of the girls in my year has parents that don't live together and she says it isn't so bad. Just think. You get to have two Christmas'."

"That…That isn't the point," she whispered, "I just wanted a family."

"You've got one. Right here." He pointed at his chest and back at the Burrow, "You've got Aunt Hermione, Uncle Ron, and Michael. Not to count me, my dad, and my mum. We're just a bit odd that's all, but still a family. Don't forget Draco and Julian either. Just because your mum needs to be on her own for a bit doesn't mean they are going to go anywhere." She sat up and looked at him, her eyes peering into his. She then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded, smiling just a bit.

"You're right. I'm being silly. I've got family right here," she touched his shoulder, "an older brother. Thank you Andrew."

She got up and left, leaving an empty feeling in his gut. He was not sure why, but the way the word brother had rolled off her lips sounded completely wrong. Something about it just sounded wrong.

Lillian was running towards him now and he groaned loudly. She was singing that muggle song his Aunt Hermione had taught her, loud and obnoxiously, screeching some parts longer than others just for point;

_Andrew and Marrrrrrcy sitting in a tree_

_K I S S I N G_

_First comes loooooove_

_Then comes marrrrriage_

_Then comes their baby in a baaaaaaaaby carriage!_

Yes. He definitely liked it better when she did not talk.


	4. The Question

AN: Hi again! I am still working on this story slowly but surely. This is one of the few times you will see multiple chapters from the same school year. Welcome to the third year, enjoy it!

Disclaimer:Again. Not mine. Totally JKR's.

_Dear Diary,_

_Julian was sorted in September; I just didn't have the heart to tell you. I watched him climb those steps that I climbed just two years ago and put on that hat. I watched with baited breath as it talked to him. I waited for it to yell loudly to the heavens **GRYFFINDOR** so loud that I would hear it about the roaring of my housemates._

_But it didn't._

_Julian is a Slytherin, just like daddy. He said that the sorting hat had told him that he was more "his father's son" than he was a Weasley. Why is that fair? Abbie says that families are not necessarily sorted into the same houses, but Julian and I belong together._

_How will I protect him now?_

Marcy slammed down her pen angrily, not caring if one of her few remaining muggle possessions broke. Her brother was gone. Well, not literally, if she truly thought it over. He was just in some other portion of the castle, far away from her careful gaze. True, he had spent most of their childhood holding her back from the next fist fight, but she had always valued her ability to watch over him and make sure he was not being made fun of. He might have been a Malfoy, but he was still young in her eyes.

She grumbled loudly and threw her diary to the foot of her bed where it landed with a loud thump against the cherry wood. Abbie Lawson, her roommate and quite arguably one of her best friends, snored quietly from her place in the next bed over. Her other roommates, two no-name chatterboxes who cared very little about the happenings of a Malfoy, were no where to be found, most likely off rolling around with another no-name Gryffindor boy. Marcy prided herself on not being a boy-roller. She cared more about her brother and her family, or what she thought was one.

Her mother had left the following summer, filing for an official wizarding parting from her father. Those types of ceremonies were, as Marcy had been told, very rare in the wizarding world. It had cost a fortune just to find an official who would perform the ritual, let alone a group that would stand as favorable witnesses. But it had become official, almost two months ago and Marcy, for the most part, had finally adjusted. She had chosen to continue living with Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron while Julian and her father found solace not far from Diagon Alley. Her family had fallen apart and picked itself back up again; a fact Marcy was not so sure she was comfortable with yet.

Having had enough, Marcy slipped quietly out of bed and into her dressing gown. Her pajamas, which were new and made of silk (a gift from Aunt Hermione) barely glimpsed out from the bottom hem as she tugged on slipper socks and headed for the door. She had a feeling the fire in the common room would be more comforting than the chilly late November air that filtered around her tower bedroom.

The sight that greeted her was surprising for there, in the middle of one of the largest couches, was Andrew Potter fast asleep. The boy was sprawled out with a set of books across his lap, his hair now drooping in his face from a lack of recent haircuts. His father had always worn his longer, Andrew had mentioned over break, and it had a trend of being handsome on Potter men. Marcy, even from up on the stairs, had to agree.

She moved quickly and quietly into one of the rattiest armchairs closest to the fire and curled her legs up underneath herself. The bulletin board, filled will all the most recent news flyers, was just to her left against a wall of Gryffindor house plaques. The biggest of the Gryffindor bookshelves, nestled against a curtain of red and gold, sat directly behind her while a plate of armor from Sir Nicholas lined the other side of the chair. The fire, which was crackling bright for midnight, illuminated the common room in a soft glow. Marcy smiled. The trip had been a good idea.

Marcy turned and grabbed a few of the flyers from the bulletin board, studying them curiously in the firelight. There was one for a 10 discount at Zonko's and one advertising the newest type of fabric sold at Madame Malkins. Someone had restarted the Gobstones Collectors Club while someone else was busy looking for a Herbology tutor. Marcy grimaced. Most of the news was relatively boring. However, it was the very last flyer, printed on elegant royal blue Hogwarts letterhead that caught her eye.

_**COME ONE AND ALL**_

_**TO THE FINEST WIZARDING BALL!**_

**_The HOGWARTS Yule Ball will occur Christmas Eve in the Great Hall. 3rd year students and above are welcome to attend. Proper dress attire is required._**

"The one last year was pretty good," a voice mumbled out across the common room, making Marcy nearly jump out of the armchair and onto the floor. Andrew, who only moments ago had been fast asleep, was now sitting upright, straightening out his rumpled clothes and pushing his forgotten books to the floor. He smiled lopsidedly at her and pointed to the flyer in her hand, "I enjoyed it a lot, relatively good music too if you like the Weird Sisters."

"Who?" she asked curiously.

"The Weird Sisters. They are a wizarding rock band." Andrew yawned and stretched, showing off a small span of toned stomach that made a sudden rush of blood swarm into Marcy's head. She could have sworn she was blushing and looked away furiously, hiding her face behind the flyer for the Yule Ball.

"So a ball. Does that mean dancing? I don't know how to dance," she muttered.

"Neither do I," he shrugged, "You don't have to though. Just wear some dress robes and some comfortable shoes…"

"Dress robes? What are dress robes? Merlin I am a terrible witch," Marcy muttered pointedly, annoyed at her own misinformation. Why had Aunt Hermione never explained dress robes to her? She would look like a fool if she walked into a dance without the proper attire. Her roommates would belittle her. It would be Highland Developing all over again…

"Mar relax. You are a great witch." He smiled at her and moved to sit in the armchair next to her, relaxing into its large back, "I'm sure Abbie can help you with the dress robe thing. If not, Aunt Hermione can order you some from Hogsmeade. You'd look pretty in blue. It would match your eyes," he replied, reaching over and brushing a piece of her hair out of the way.

Marcy smiled then, for some reason pleased that Andrew had noticed the color of her eyes and had complimented her. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that their friendship was much more complicated than it seemed to the normal outsider. He was legendary in Hogwarts, constantly being followed by torrents of giggling girls with only a few things on their minds. His father was famous for brilliant reasons. She was a tradition breaker and a Malfoy. Her father was famous for reasons that caused whispers and pointedly mean stares. By all means they should never have spoken, let alone become friends. She was a 3rd year. He was a 6th year. They belonged more apart than anyone else. And yet, she could not help the butterflies that formed in her stomach whenever he smiled at her or called her by his pet name. They were growing into a stronger friendship than she had ever known possible, one that questioned and bordered on what was allowed and what was forbidden.

"Andrew, wait, do I need a date?" she asked out of the blue. He nodded through another yawn, stretching even more and rubbing his sleep ridden eyes. She groaned and he laughed, causing her to flip a more than inappropriate gesture at him.

The next thing Marcy knew she was lying on her back on the ground; the air pushed forcefully out of her lungs as the heavy body of Andrew Potter landed on top of her and started tickling her sides. She laughed through the pain and tried to push him off but he held on tightly to her wrists, curling his fingers into her waist and pushing on the spots that he knew were the most sensitive to tickling. Marcy muttered curse words at him as she finally gained the upper hand and flipped them over, landing on top of his waist with a thud. He looked at her curiously from the ground and she felt the blush return as she realized the compromising position she had put them in. She was _not_ a boy-roller.

She moved quickly off of Andrew and fixed her dressing gown and pajamas, which had ridden up on her thighs from their tickle fight. He was staring at her intently, a light rose color settling across the apples of his cheeks and she turned away, not quite sure what to say.

_Really Marcy. Good show. Really making things **less** awkward._

"Andrew I…"

"Marcy I have a question for you. About the ball…"

Whatever was about to come out of his mouth was halted by the appearance of Charlie Lawson on the steps. He was covered with a large blanket that he had dragged down from his dormitory and sported a sleepy grin across his face. His cornstalk hair was sticking straight up as the sight of Marcy and Andrew seemed to wake him up a bit and his sleepy grin grew into a wide smile. His eyes caught sight of the flyer on the forgotten armchair and in a very scratchy voice said, "Hey, Marcy. Glad I saw you. Wanted to talk to you before anyone else did, funny you two are up so late. I just forgot something. But, right, that dance thing. I was thinking, since we're friends and we're gunna be around each other all night, we should go together. Abbie already thinks it's a great idea. She has a green set of dress robes that would match your eyes you could wear; you guys are close in size. The three musketeers all night right?"

Marcy looked back at Andrew, who had busied himself with collecting his things, hoping for some sort of cue on his behalf. However his face, which had moments before been bright and awake, was empty of emotion and care. It seemed as if he had purposely ignored Charlie's request. Turning back to her best friend on the steps, Marcy breathed heavily and muttered a shaky 'of course' before gathering herself up, replacing the flyers, and heading to give Charlie a hug. She started to head up in the opposite direction (as Charlie had retrieved whatever it was he had left downstairs) and cast one final look at Andrew before retreating into the girl's dormitory.

_Dear Diary,_

_I told Charlie I would go with him to the Yule Ball I only just heard about. Abbie will loan me dress robes that match my eyes._

_He does not realize what color they really are._

_I think I just made a terrible mistake._


	5. A Yule Ball

"Marcy you have a package!" yelled a boy from the front of the Gryffindor house table. He was young, maybe a first year, and started to tremble as Marcy Malfoy strode past him towards the spot on the table where a large barn owl had dropped her package. She did not consider herself intimidating although her family name had a way of making the newer students shrink away from her. Giving the owl a slight tap on the head and yelling 'thank you' over her shoulder towards the boy, Marcy proceeded to plop into her usual place at the house table. Dinner had only been put out moments before and the best parts were still plenty full and hot. With a grumbling stomach, Marcy began to shovel a hefty portion of Lancashire Hotpot onto her plate, the package momentarily forgotten. Students began to pile in after her, taking their seats at the different tables and smiling brightly at the array of smells that had come from the kitchen. Marcy waved through a mouthful of pumpkin juice at Julian, who was deep in conversation with another Slytherin. She frowned when he did not wave back.

"Marcy, did you do the Herbology assignment yet?" Abbie asked as she sat next to her daintily, her eyes scanning the delicacies in front of her.

"Nah. I'm hoping for a snow day," Marcy mumbled through a mouthful, using her fork as a pointer, "If it snows enough over the holiday like the Prophet said, hopefully all our classes will be cancelled. I'd love not to see Binns for a day."

Abbie, who had been serving herself a very small portion of roasted potatoes, scrunched up her nose at Marcy's comment, "Come now Marcy. Professor Binns has been here for hundreds of years. You can not expect him to just leave now, not when there is still so much history to learn." Marcy was about to argue that Binns was only still there because he was already dead, but was interrupted by Charlie and Michael, who had approached the table at a run, "wow, aren't you boys hasty," added Abbie.

"Starving," Michael muttered as he piled his plate high, giving Marcy a quaint nod hello before slamming it down and diving in. For cousins, Marcy found it odd that she rarely if ever spoke to Michael in school. During the summer she found that they talked a lot, laughing over Aunt Hermione's pitiful attempts to cook and Uncle Ron's obsession with the Chudley Cannons. At Hogwarts, it was as if they were two completely different people. Michael latched onto Charlie who, although much younger, was one of the few people other than Andrew Potter that he confided in. They talked about boy things. Marcy enjoyed her time with Abbie. They talked about girl things.

"Marcy?" Abbie interrupted her thoughts and it was obvious from her expression that she had been asking her a question. Marcy mumbled an apology, "Its fine. I was wondering what you want to do tomorrow night. You still have not tried on those dress robes I set out for you."

Marcy gulped, forcing herself to look straight ahead instead of catching a glimpse of Charlie Lawson. She had agreed, almost regrettably, to attend the Yule Ball with him on Christmas Eve. It would not have been such a terrible agreement; they were best friends, had it not been for Andrew Potter. Marcy was sure Andrew had been about to ask her to the ball himself on that winter night just a few weeks before. Charlie had just had lousy timing. Truth be told, Marcy had no desire to attend the ball in Abbie's dress robes at all. She had seen the bottle green silk sitting on Abbie's bed and had examined them carefully. They were modest, almost too modest, and would hang all the wrong ways on her. The robes were meant to bring out Abbie's form, not hers.

"We can talk about it later," Marcy added, trying to change the subject.

"Who are you going with Abbie?" Michael asked quietly from behind a pile of food.

"Joseph Whitney. He's a Hufflepuff fourth year," she said proudly, looking over her shoulder at a very nerdy boy with large glasses and an obvious overbite. Marcy giggled a bit to herself and turned forward before the boy saw her staring. For such a pretty girl, Abbie was known for her eclectic tastes in boys, especially ones that did not seem to measure up in the physical department, "He wants to be a librarian when he's older so he can make a better system for cataloging research. It would make the current system so much easier; it's ingenious really."

"Or it's absolutely barmy," Charlie interjected, causing Marcy's giggle to be pushed out almost forcefully. Abbie glared at both of them and turned her attention to Michael.

"What about you Michael?"

"Oh, I'm not going," he said quietly, "I've got some things to do." Marcy frowned at her cousin. He was a rather quiet boy to begin with. She had hoped he would have taken the opportunity to get out a bit, "But I'm helping Andrew get ready."

"Ooh who is Andrew taking to the ball!" one of Marcy's no-name roommates yelped from down the table, practically running to push next to Marcy on the bench. The girl's cheeks were overdone with blush and her lips were a wicked color of red. She was holding her face in her hands and staring at Michael with lash-filtered puppy dog eyes. Marcy saw Michael gulp forcefully before answering.

"Cummings. Uh…Sarah Cummings." The girl began to pout to herself and scuttled away, causing everyone to start laughing. Even Michael broke a smile.

"So Marcy…" started Charlie, "I was thinking, how about I wait for you around 7:30 or so? That would give us plenty of time to get there and take pictures and things." Marcy nodded and set to taking up dessert, which consisted of peanut butter cookies and some sort of cake. Charlie beamed and added, "Don't forget your package," before getting up and heading off into the halls.

It was then that Marcy remembered the package sitting next to her. It was long and rectangular with a very noticeable loopy handwriting scrawled across its face. She gasped out loud, totally surprised as to why she had not noticed it before. Shoving a cookie in her mouth, Marcy grabbed the package and forced her way to Gryffindor tower and the safety of her curtained bedroom.

Her mother had sent her something in the mail.

* * *

Marcy fingered the fabric lightly, allowing the smooth satin to run across the tips. It was royal blue and practically flickered in the growing moonlight from the softest application of glitter and sparkle. Marcy examined herself in the mirror as she let go of the fabric, forcing herself to take in the shapes and curves of the new dress.

It was cut to fit Marcy's shape, with a double folded neckline that draped around the back. The bodice and length of the dress hug her hips and flowed out just past her knees. Her shoulders and collarbone were exposed due to its lack of sleeves, creating a perfect line that extended down to the tips of her fingers. In the mirror she could see her eyes popping against her otherwise pale skin, the color practically dragging them to the surface. Marcy smiled and spun around.

She would never truly understand why her mother had sent her the exquisite set of robes. They hardly talked anymore; Ginny Weasley called occasionally on holidays and always remembered to send a card on her birthday. Marcy had grown to accept in the six months since her parent's divorce that her mother, although brilliant, had lost herself somewhere between Julian's birth and Marcy's first showing. Ginny had needed the time alone and Marcy had needed a mother. Ginny had just been incapable of doing both.

There was no note attached to the dress, no way of knowing the motivations behind her mother's surprise gift. It had come with a small silver chain, a set of hair crystals, and tiny sandal shoes that were just the right size. Marcy felt anticipation brimming up in the depth of her stomach as she looked at herself in the mirror.

_Mum would be proud._

* * *

"MARCY GET DOWN HERE!" Abbie yelled loudly up the stairs to the girls floor of Gryffindor Tower. Andrew Potter laughed at the audacity of the thirteen year old in front of him and smiled as he adjusted the tie around his neck. He had chosen a dark green suit because his father had told him that Potter men always looked good in green, although now he wondered if it was possibly a terrible idea. Sarah's dress was a brilliant egg yolk yellow that contrasted nastily with his outfit. She was currently standing in the corner sulking with two friends as he stood around Abbie and Charlie.

Abbie was wearing a shade of periwinkle that drew attention to her violet eyes, something Joseph Whitney had obviously not noticed. He was staring more at the voluptuous curve of her chest and the way it moved every time she breathed in and out. Honestly, Andrew could not blame the boy. No matter how absolutely lousy he had come off in the real world initially, he was obviously very much male.

"Oh my…" a girl across the room whispered, causing Andrew to spin around and suck in a tight breath of air. Marcy Malfoy was descending the steps in the most amazing color of blue he had ever seen. Her strawberry blonde hair shone in a way he had not realized hair could and her cobalt eyes were practically piercing into his body as she came to rest just next to him. He looked her up and down as inconspicuously as possible before breathing out slowly, giving her a nod, and moving towards Sarah. He had to get away from Marcy Malfoy as soon as possible, before inappropriate thoughts entered his head again.

* * *

"Having fun yet!" Charlie yelled above the music of the Weird Sisters, twirling his hips in a way that was just awkward for a boy of his age. Marcy nodded regrettably and spun around him, twisting and turning her hands in the air to the contemporary music. The dance floor was not very crowded, many having returned to their tables too tired and full. The meal had been delicious and Marcy had been highly impressed by the ready-to-order menus that the House Elves had created. Charlie had eaten too quickly and had barely given her time to finish before pulling her back to the center of the floor. Abbie had smiled at her apologetically from her seat next to Joseph, and the chatterboxes laughed uproariously as Charlie pulled her a little too close during one of the slow songs.

The only person she had not seen was Andrew Potter. He had practically disappeared after she saw him in the common room and had not sat at their table as originally decided. She had thought she had looked rather good, had been told by a couple of girls she had not even known that she looked lovely, and yet Andrew had quickly and purposefully walked away from her. He had avoided her. A knot in her stomach grew as she thought of him hiding in a corner snogging with Sarah Cummings.

"Hey Marcy, I think I'm gunna go get a drink…you want anything?" Charlie interrupted, pointing towards the makeshift non-alcoholic bar. Marcy shook her head and watched him walk away to the tune of a starting slow ballad. She looked around sadly. Slow songs were her favorite.

She saw him then, standing off to the corner, devoid of the gigantic Big Bird that was Sarah Cummings. He was not looking at her but talking to some other sixth years when she approached him, and he looked astonished when she asked him to dance.

"I uh…yeah okay," Andrew muttered out and took her hand, leading them to the swarm of the center of the dance floor. Marcy carefully draped her arms around his neck although he was almost too tall for her and he cautiously gripped her sides. She looked to her right and he looked to his as they began to twirl to the music.

"Enjoying the dance?" she asked, not bothering to look at him.

"I guess," he muttered under his breath, "Sarah isn't exactly happy with me."

"Does it matter?"

"I…" He stopped and turned his head so the tip of his chin pressed against her temple, "No…I guess not."

"Well then don't worry about it," Marcy quipped, "I'm sure Charlie isn't all that pleased with me either."

"Why's that Mar?" He asked, sounding genuinely concerned, "I thought you two were, you know, becoming something…"

"I hope not!" she exclaimed a little too happily. Restarting, she said, "Charlie is a wonderful person but…" she stopped and turned her head, surprised to find Andrew staring down at her intently. The emotion in his eyes took her breath away. Marcy had not realized just how close he was to her, how the distance between them had closed and she was now practically pressed against his chest, his hands resting delicately on the top of her arse. She could feel the heat rising in her stomach and breathed slowly, willing herself to take in air.

"…he just isn't your type," Andrew added, barely looking away from her. She licked her lips as she watched his concentration suddenly dart to the bottom of her face and his eyes slowly slide back to hers. They were barely moving now, practically just standing, and the rest of the world seemed to have melted away, "Mar…"

"Yes?" she asked too quickly.

"You look beautiful tonight." She smiled then, big and wide, and let her head fall against his shoulder and felt his rest against her forehead. Something magical had just happened between them, some wonderful sort of understanding…

"ATTENTION!" came the ringing voice of Professor Flitwick, lifted into the air above the ball by a Hover Charm, "ATTENTION PLEASE. I NEED MR. POTTERAND MS. WEASLEY TO COME TO THE FRONT OF THE HALL. THE REST OF YOU WILL BE IMMEDIATELY ESCORTED BACK TO YOUR HOUSES BY THE PREFECTS. NO EXCEPTIONS!"

Marcy and Andrew pulled apart quickly and moved to the front of the room. The entire staff was surrounding the front table and discussing something in hushed whispers. Their faces were riddled with remorse and fear. Andrew grabbed Marcy's hand and squeezed it lightly.

"Professors?" Marcy asked.

"Ms. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid to inform you there has been an attack on the Ministry of Magic," Professor McGonagall said quietly, placing a hand on Marcy's shoulder, "You are to return to your houses, pack your things, and meet Mr. Weasley at the front gates. You will be escorted immediately to St. Mungo's."

"But Professor…is Aunt Hermione alright…" Marcy asked, knowing Hermione worked in a department in the far corner of the Ministry of Magic.

"Ms. Malfoy, I assure you that Mrs. Weasley is fine, but your presence is requested for another member of your family. We would floo, but with what has happened…"

"Its fine Professor," Andrew interjected despite Marcy's continued pleas and pulled her away from the table.

"Andrew! What is going on?"

"Marcy we need to get to St. Mungo's. The Minister is in trouble."

"You mean?" she started, feeling her heart drop, "The Minister of Magic? We're related to the Minister of Magic?"

"You are. He's your grandfather."


	6. The Minister of Magic

AN: Probably the most unfair cliff hanger I'm going to leave. Everything is going to pick up from here on out, yes Marcy will be a 4th year come the next chapter and the loose ends will be tied up (even in the Marcy/Andrew aspect). Thanks for sticking with me, again, Harry Potter belongs to JKR and I do not take any claim to it!

* * *

Marcy was in a bubble.

Well, it felt like a bubble really, even though she was actually sitting on one of the large beds of the evening Knight Bus. Andrew and Michael were sitting on the bed across from her, shifting violently as the bus took awkwardly hard turns. Marcy did not move, her bubble keeping her firmly seated on her bed. It could have been that she was already comfortable with buses after years in primary muggle school, but no one argued with her when she blamed it on her bubble.

Things had gone from bad to worse after the Yule Ball was called to an abrupt close. She was given minutes to run back to Gryffindor and grab a few things and place them in a suitcase Abbie had conjured from a discarded vase. Julian had been sound asleep when she had approached the Slytherin common room and, not wishing to wake him, she left strict instructions with Professor Slughorn for his impending wake.

Then Marcy had hugged her best friends and left. Charlie had stared at her almost sadly and Abbie had wished her a farewell. The Knight Bus was awkward and crowded with other witches and wizards attempting to locate loved ones at the Ministry. Michael and Andrew had moved away from her quickly. She had tried to talk to Andrew, to figure out what exactly had happened, but it seemed as if their moment of romantic magic had dissipated by their call back to reality.

Or at least, his call. Marcy was living in a bubble and she was quite happy with it. The attack did not exist. The starchy bed sheets she was sitting on did not exist. She was still at the dance, twirling around in Andrew's arms. Nothing bad had happened. Marcy heard the Knight Bus conductor, Stan Shunpike, yell out the next stop. They still had three more before hers. She closed her eyes, fully intent on sinking even further…

"ST. MUNGO'S! HEY, LADY, THIS IS YOUR STOP!" a man with terrible breath yelled into Marcy's face. She wrinkled her nose and sat up, surprised to find herself tucked in under the bedspread. She rubbed her eyes and fixed her sleep-mussed hair as best as she could. When had she fallen asleep? When had the bubble popped?

Michael and Andrew were waiting for her when she stepped off the bus, both of their faces pasty white with concern and a lack of sleep. Andrew was rubbing his forcefully and pulling at the collar of his dress robes. Michael, who was still in pajamas, attempted to pull his shirt down to cover the small span of stomach that showed through.

"Where are we?" Marcy asked, staring at a very stark department store building. It looked almost abandoned.

"This is the entrance of our finest hospital, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Andrew muttered through a yawn, "Everyone is taken here who lives in Britain for the most part. There are other wizarding hospitals worldwide, but most severe cases are sent here." He motioned them to move forward and she followed him and Michael with hesitation.

They entered the building and Marcy was surprised to find it completely neat and tidy. A young witch sat at an information desk as other witches and wizards bustled around donning lime green robes. A long list of floors was directly to her right and described many of the injuries treatable in the hospital. Andrew and Michael took no notice to the sign and led her directly to an elevator, pushing the Fourth Floor button carelessly. She had read the sign for the fourth floor. Spell damage.

A witch, probably about ten years older than her mother, met them at the end of the elevator. She had hair the color of orange marmalade and a very tiny nose. Her eyes sparkled celery green as she gave Andrew and Michael a sad but stern smile.

"Hello boys," she looked at Marcy then, "and you must be Marcy, I'm Tonks. Healer Lopez just finished working on Arthur, I'm sure Hermione and Ron will allow all three of you to visit momentarily. They are in there right now. Andrew, your parents are sitting outside his door if you would like to see them." Her face did not match the cheery disposition of her news, and Marcy wondered if this Tonks woman was lying.

"Is my dad here?" Marcy jumped in before Andrew had a chance to walk away. Fear shot through the eyes of the woman in front of them for just a second before she shook her head and mentioned that he was held up with business. Marcy grumbled loudly to herself. Andrew, for the first time since leaving the dance, took her hand and led her over to his parents.

"Dad, Mum, can Marcy spend some time with us for a bit?" He asked cautiously. Michael was still conversing with the unusual looking witch and seemed perfectly content away from the action of the Minister's hospital bedroom.

"Yes of course," Melinda Potter nodded, resting a hand on her husband's knee. Marcy barely knew Harry Potter, but had never seen him so torn up before. His eyes were dark underneath his glasses and beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. She looked to Andrew for answers; he merely shrugged his shoulders and mentioned for her to take her seat. It was, apparently, something she was not supposed to ask about, "You two must be famished. There is a café on the next floor up if you would like to grab a bit to eat."

Marcy shook her head. She should have been hungry; she had not eaten since the middle of the dance but something inside of her forced her to say no. Andrew declined as well, looking at his dad with a bit of remorse as the older man's trembling hands clenched and unclenched.

"Where's Molly?" Andrew asked.

"She's staying at Headquarters," Melinda answered before Harry was given the chance, and Marcy wondered if maybe all the adults in St. Mungo's were expected to lie about serious situations.

"What happened?" she voiced, unable to remain quiet about it.

A hush fell over the small waiting room; it seemed as if Michael and Tonks had even stopped their conversation to hear what would be said. Harry looked up at her then, his eyes a mixture of fear and pain. Marcy had not noticed at first, but his cheek had been stitched up, the remnants of a very large gash only barely visible beneath a set of gauze taped bandages. There was also a small bruise forming by the edge of his left eye, causing the eyelid to droop slightly in an almost tired expression.

"They came out of nowhere, five men with black robes and masks. I managed to take out one of them before they banished me from the room. It was an impossible battle," Harry said aloud, "They apparently came up the elevator, wiped out at least one important figure head on each floor. I don't know how anyone didn't stop them."

"Dad what were they after?"

"A project of some sort would be my assumption," Harry mentioned but stopped himself as Tonks gave him a very angry glare, "Probably top secret."

"Arthur doesn't have that kind of access."

"No one outside of the Ministry would know that darling," Melinda chimed in, patting her son on the shoulder, "Besides…I'm sure he'll be..." Melinda's words were cut off by a large blaring siren from inside the minister's room. Tonks, who had been leaning calmly against the doorway, ran into the room and locked the door behind her. Marcy could here the pops of apparition as more healers rushed into the rooms. She could almost swear she could hear Hermione yelling.

"What's going on?"

"I…"

Marcy closed her eyes before Harry could answer her, trying to go back into the bubble. Something was going terribly wrong and she knew; if she could just reach the bubble, it would all be alright. She would be safe. She could see it rising in front of her, could see Hermione and Ron standing there waving at her. Why they were there, she was not quite sure, but she knew the Burrow was safe. She would retreat there.

Suddenly, she was somewhere she didn't recognize. She could see Aunt Hermione, Tonks, and Uncle Ron looking devastated in the corner as two healers twirled their wands in intricate patterns over a man's chest. He was old, with fading auburn hair and a very long pointed nose, and brilliantly white skin with just the tiniest bit of peach fuzz. His eyes were closed although she knew, somehow, that they were blue.

_How did I get in here?_ She thought to herself from the corner of the room. She had seen Tonks lock the door. She had seen…

Hermione let out a small cry that brought her attention back to the scene in front of her. A healer was holding her hand and shaking his head, handing her a wand with a broken tip. Ron had moved to the window and looked as if he was trying with all his might to not put his hand through it. Tonks was gone, replaced by a woman with long mahogany hair and very large features. The machine over the man's head, which had been beeping moments before, was turned off, and a blanket was slowly being pulled over his head. She could feel the tears start to fall down her face for the man she had never met and would never get to know…

"MARCY!" yelled Andrew Potter and she opened her eyes, surprised to find herself on the floor in the waiting room.

_Was that a dream?_

She touched her face cautiously and felt them, the hot tears that had not been their moments before. She heard the door creak open and she looked up to see Hermione and Ron come out with that woman she did not know, their faces the same as they had been in her dream sequence.

"Tonks is he alright?" Harry asked.

_If that's Tonks…this doesn't make any sense_

"He died," Marcy answered from the floor. A collective gasp spread around those waiting and Hermione started to cry again, folding into her husband's shoulder for comfort. Ron stared at his childhood best friend and nodded solemnly before forcing Hermione into a chair. Melinda grabbed Harry's hand as his own tears started to fall for the father that had been Arthur Weasley. Michael, who had been the most optimistic of them all, looked sick. Andrew would not let go of Marcy's hand.

"This is…much bigger than we expected," Tonks murmured behind her new hair, "None of you are safe now, not until we learn what happened to the Minister. I have to inform the appropriate sources. The chain of command…it…it isn't prepared for something like this. We haven't had…"

"…not since **him**…" muttered Ron.

"…yes. And now…" Tonks shuddered visibly before muttering, "To Headquarters."


	7. The Golden Orb

Marcy tugged at the hem of her tee shirt, which was far too large and hung limply on her frame. It was humid; the air stuck to her clothes and caused beads of sweat to form all along the small of her back just seconds after wiping them off. The house, which was old and falling to bits as it was, would not accept Aunt Hermione's cooling spells and only paused momentarily in its blinding heat to make the air even more stifling.

Her room at Grimmauld Place (better known as headquarters, to whom she was not entirely sure) was way too small. She shared the one bed with Lillian Potter and her things were crumpled into a pile against the far corner. Her Hogwarts trunk was full of random odds and ends; the dress robes she had been wearing the night of the Ball balled into a disjointed mess on the very top.

She had not bothered to put them away when Tonks had their things sent from Hogwarts. She had not bothered to look at her things at all really. A pile of her used schoolbooks were set on the side of the trunk with a spilled bottle of ink she had yet to pick up. Lillian had knocked it over in one of her many tantrums. Marcy did not care.

It was August 31st, she remembered sadly, as her gaze scanned the calendar she had sloppily written on the far wall in crayon and red highlighter. They would be going back to Hogwarts tomorrow, back to the world they had so quickly and casually left behind. She wondered if things had changed. She wondered about Abbie and Charlie, both of whom she had been forbidden to talk to that summer. They wrote her occasionally, but the letters had teetered off towards the end of the holiday.

The exchange from a boarding student to a home student had gone off without a hitch for her, Andrew, Michael, and Julian, she reckoned. With Grimmauld Place being the location of "the headquarters", it had not been difficult to keep in touch with her teachers and get their daily assignments done. Headmistress McGonagall visited almost daily to ensure that they were keeping up with their activities; she had full expectations of replacing all four of them in their respective years the following term. Actually, she chortled to herself, it seemed as if many of her professors had become more diligent in their assignments following the death of the Minister of Magic.

Marcy sighed loudly then, pulling the tee shirt up and over her head and throwing it to the floor. The months that followed Arthur Weasley's death had been some of the hardest she had ever had to live through. Everyone seemed to have developed their own set of bubbles, retreating far into the mourning stages and enveloping themselves in the sadness that always came after untimely passing. She had tried, at first, to make herself available to the people in her family that were hurting most. She helped Aunt Hermione bake Uncle Ron's favorite treats and had Lillian make a nice collage for her father. But, none of it really helped. Her family had fallen into despair around her, and there had been nothing for her to do about it. She had not known him well enough to cry over his death. While many of them had come out of the depression as it became closer to the school year, she wondered if things would ever return to the fun loving nature it had had when they once lived at the Burrow

The door to her bedroom flew open as Lillian, pulling a very disgruntled Julian Malfoy, stomped inside.

"Make him give it back Marcy!" the girl yelled, her cheeks blushing a bright purple color. Julian was wearing the sheepish face he often sported whenever he did something he knew would get him in trouble.

"Give what back?" she asked lazily and without much care.

"My Hogwarts letter! They came in the mail today and he nipped mine before I could read it!" Marcy sighed. It would be the first year that Lillian would be entering Hogwarts, as she had been a few months too young to make the cutoff the year before, and she had been bustling about all week waiting for the letter announcing her arrival to come in the mail. Marcy was just glad the annoyance would stop.

"Did all the letters come in?" Marcy asked.

"Yes but what does that have anything to do with it?" the girl squealed, shaking Julian's arm with a force she should not have possessed, "I just want mine! He's _your_ brother."

"Yeah. Well uhm…" Marcy started, standing up and heading out of the room, "you deal with it."

She took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the squabbles that came behind her as Lillian's voice filled with girlish rage and Julian muttered something about a top. The kitchen, which laid just to the right of the stairs, was a bustle with people as she made her way towards the entrance. The portrait of Mrs. Black, which hung on the stairs above her head, began to let out shrill slurs about mudbloods and traitors as she entered, slamming the noise out behind her.

The commotion, which had been boisterous, silenced the minute she reached the table. Andrew Potter, her cousin Michael, and a boy she did not recognize had been huddled in excited whispers but were now staring at her with what looked like amusement etched over their faces. Michael was trying to hide back a laugh with a cough and Andrew's cheeks had turned the color of roses.

"If this is how people come down to lunch all the time, I should really stop in with my dad more often," the boy laughed to himself, pointing towards her. Marcy looked down at herself and let out an audible gasp as the meaning behind Julian's muted words finally made sense. She was wearing a very old sports bra which left nothing to the imagination about the ways she had grown in the last year. It was very obvious which spots had developed over the summer and which had not.

"Bollocks," she muttered, pulling out her wand and transfiguring herself a nice muggle wrap top from a pile of discarded letters. The house allowed all the underage children taking lessons to use magic as long as it was for practical and safe uses. This, she reckoned, was definitely practical.

"That was sadly, anticlimactic," the boy muttered under his breath before extending a hand, "Jacob. Jacob Jordan. My father was friends with Michael's back before the war." Marcy shook his hand and took a place at the table.

"You're here…"

"Just celebrating with the boys!" he mocked, smiling a large toothy grin. He had no hair, which caused his coffee and cream colored skin to flicker in the incoming sunlight. He had extremely white teeth and lips that seemed to take up his entire face, "No really, my father is here on Order business, but Andrew didn't you tell her?"

"I'm…I'm Head Boy," he murmured quietly. He did not seem nearly as happy about it as Jacob seemed to be.

"Well…that…that's fantastic isn't it?" Marcy responded truthfully, placing a hand over his, "I'm real proud of you." She attempted to squeeze his hand but he pulled away quickly. While the interchange went unnoticed by Michael and Jacob (who had launched into a discussion about Quidditch), she felt her heart drop just slightly by his rudeness.

Things between her and Andrew had taken a dramatically negative turn after the death of her grandfather. Andrew, who had once been bright and outgoing with her, had turned inward upon himself. At their lessons (which were usually done in a communal structure to give the professors more time) he barely ever spoke and retreated to his room the minute they were finished. Michael had even turned more charismatic during their time in Grimmauld Place while Andrew continued to dig himself farther and farther away. It startled Marcy in ways she really did not understand. The one time she had attempted to bring the matter up while cleaning the attic of the old house had sparked an argument that left her angry for weeks. They had not spoken more words than necessary since.

She did not have many friends; that she knew. Abbie and Charlie Lawson were some of the only people she talked to in her own year, she was not that close with the others on the Quidditch team, and although her and Michael had grown closer in the years, Julian was rarely if ever around to talk to. Andrew had always been one of those people for her.

"OY!" yelped Jacob loudly as a figure materialized behind Marcy, pulling her from her daydreams. She recognized his smell immediately; musky and yet almost freshly polished, with a touch of peppermint from his shampoo and old ink from the office.

"DAD!" she yelled just as loudly as she jumped out of her seat into her father's awaiting arms.

* * *

Draco Malfoy hugged his daughter lovingly, not surprised by the looks of shock and confusion on the other young boy's faces. Draco had made it a habit of staying out of London in the months following the death of Arthur. It had been best in the long run. The Aurors were still looking for the man responsible and all eyes and ears were pointed in his direction.

While the heads of the Auror team, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, did not suspect Draco in the slightest, the general consensus of the public did not give him credit for the fighting he had done against his father in Russia and Romania. 'Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater' an old beggar in the street had once told him. Funny, he did not remember ever actually serving Voldemort. It had been no use though. He had left his company behind as they too, found it slightly uncomfortable to be in his presence after the Minister's passing. He had gone looking for answer and had come back with something he was not prepared to deal with.

"Dad what are you doing here?" Marcy asked from a space against his chest. He laughed slightly as he felt the heat of her breath melt into the leather of his overcoat, "and what on earth are you wearing? Muggle clothes don't suit you," she murmured.

"Yes well, I was on business," he fibbed, pressing her close and breathing in her scent.

He knew fairly well that Hermione and Ron blamed him in part for the things that had happened in the last four years. Hermione had always been a loving person and had always, almost nauseatingly, possessed this habit of taking in things that she felt were being cared for improperly. Ron, on the other hand, was just a family-kind-of-tosser. He was one of those blokes who loved well rounded and unnecessarily large broods. While both of those things appealed to Draco, he had not expected the things that befell him to give Hermione and Ron either of those things at the same time, or to make him the object of their grievances. He had not expected things with Ginny to go so sourly.

Draco sighed then against his daughter's strawberry blonde hair. Things with Ginny had melted away so fast after his return from Murmansk. He had hoped that, with time, things would have been able to heal. She would have realized that he loved her in a way he was not quite sure about and with a heart he had never known he had when he was younger. But, some things just did not work out like that. She had gotten strange and had left. Had said something about it being for the better, and he had not heard from her in almost two years.

But he was back, he remembered with a bit of trepidation. He was back to turn everyone's worlds upside down in typical Malfoy function.

"Marcy, darling, I need to see your Aunt and Uncle."

* * *

"THIS IS SOME KIND OF BLOODY JOKE!" Ron Weasley bellowed loudly in Draco's general direction. Hermione was gripping his arm tightly as Melinda Potter tried to comfort her equally flabbergasted husband. Molly Weasley, Minerva, and several other order members were sitting with them as well, staring at Draco as he cupped a tiny golden sphere between his hands.

"Not a joke Weasley, now please just calm yourself," Draco said with a bit of stern composure. He had already played every bit of this meeting out in his head and, as far as he was concerned, things were unfolding completely according to his predictions.

"Mr. Malfoy, what you are proposing…"

"Minerva, I'm not your student anymore, please," Draco interrupted.

"Yes…right…but what you are saying, what you are telling us is completely…"

"Incredulous," muttered Melinda Potter.

"Quite possibly," Draco replied, waving his free hand in the air, "But you see, I found it. Stole it right from under their stupid noses when they weren't paying attention. And it is here. So why don't we listen to it?" He asked, "I sure want to know what it says."

"That doesn't look like the one we found does it?" Hermione mentioned, "It's…smaller. And a funny color."

"That's cause it wasn't made by a good wizard Hermione," Draco muttered, "Yours was recorded by Albus Dumbledore. This one…let's just say someone a bit higher up heard this one. You can't find these kinds in the Ministry of Magic."

"I've had to listen to one of those things before," a witch from the Department of Mysteries chimed in, "it's rather ghastly. Besides, what if it's all just a hoax, some way to make us think that things have rekindled when they really haven't?"

"Would they have killed the Minister of Magic over 'just nothing'?" Draco asked, causing them all to gasp collectively and Molly Weasley to sob just loud enough to hear. He patted her lightly on the shoulder and continued, "Look, I'm not happy with this either. But there is one, and we might as well hear it. It's got to involve one of the kids and I damn well want to know what they're up against…"

"Then we're all fucked," Harry finally said, "It was too hard the first time around. The wizarding world can't handle another evil like this or another prophesized fucking hero."

"I don't believe this shite Malfoy," Ron contested angrily, slamming his fist into the table, "We would have heard about this."

"You don't have the connections I have," Draco muttered.

"THAT'S BECAUSE I'M NOT A FORMER DEATH EATER," he yelled again. Hermione grabbed his arm again and Draco could not help but chuckle to himself. What was with that association?

"Weasley, listen up. The rest of you too. This is life. You take the good, and you take the bad. Right now, I'm telling you that there is a new prophecy, and we probably shouldn't take it lightly. The fate of the world is in my hands folks. The most we can do is listen to it and see where to go from there. Agreed?"

The wizards and witches around the table, one by one, nodded at Draco. As the circle reached Harry he too shook his head up and down.

"Ron?" Hermione asked.

"I…what does Ginny think?" Ron asked suddenly.

"Does it matter?" Draco asked, starting to get defensive, "She isn't here, is she?" Ron finally nodded his head then, looking more defeated than agreeable.

Draco opened his left hand and allowed the golden orb to float itself into a slight hover above his palm. There was something inscribed across its surface in fine detailed lettering but he could not read it just right and really, it did not matter. What mattered would be inside. He lifted his right hand then and, with a sudden motion, cracked the sphere between his two palms with a sickening crunch.

A wailing voice lifted out of the mess between his fingers, unfolding in long ooh's and ahh's that surrounded the small living room as a weird smoke began to raise up. Draco could see the form of an older man pulling out of the mist, his mouth opening widely to black nothingness as the voice inside bellowed out. Draco recognized him but refused to speak his name as unearthly shrills formed into words…

_Born from the roots of both good and evil, a power unbeknownst to the world will be brought forth to tilt the balance of the Great Path, bringing with it the doorway for the greatest evil of all time, shall it be allowed. To move left, to move right, to choose one's path and to choose for all. Upon the passing of 18 birthing days, the power must choose which side of the balance to accumulate and will become the multiplicity of the Great Path. Forever good. Forever the greatest evil. The power must choose a side._

_Born from the roots of both good and evil…_


	8. Astral Projection

AN: I know this story seems to be going every which way, but I'm trying to make it as energetic and interesting as possible. I promise EVERYTHING ties back together in the end. I have everything mapped out, I know exactly what is coming next (who is dying, who is not, etc. etc.) So please just be patient and keep reviewing, I love the response. More will be coming. Again, Disclaimer, this is all property of JK Rowling.

Onto the chapter!!!

* * *

Marcy fidgeted restlessly in her seat on the Hogwarts Express a day later, her feet cramping from a lack of blood circulation and movement. They had been stalled for some unknown reason when leaving the station and they were almost twenty minutes behind in their normal schedule.

Abbie, who had cut her long ebony hair pixie short, was twirling a pencil in her fingers as she talked animatedly about Joseph Whitney and the way their relationship had progressed over the remainder of the year and summer holiday. He had disposed of his glasses, fixed his overbite, and was adamantly at work on his new library system. Marcy regretted it, but she had tuned Abbie out well over an hour ago.

The train had been bustling since the moment she, Julian, Michael, and Andrew had stepped across the gleaming scarlet shell. Crooning girls surrounded the Head Boy with a newfound admiration for his attractive looks and the Quidditch team had immediately cornered Marcy, demanding to know if they would return for next season. They had lost the cup to Slytherin for the first time in years due to their absences and the captain, a boy she had met at tryouts, was adamant about reclaiming their victory. Abbie and Charlie had found her, dragging both Marcy and Michael into their small compartment to tell stories of the months they had spent apart. Charlie's had been short and to the point, briefly mentioning to Marcy through a loud yawn that he had missed her terribly. Michael had left to go visit with Jacob Jordan and to make sure Julian had settled comfortably with his friends. It was then that Abbie had started on her Joseph tantrum, and had yet to stop.

"…honestly I don't know why his professors don't value his work more. Vector should be so pleased with the strides he's made…"

"So how are you doing Marcy?" Charlie interrupted loudly, flipping a piece of his cornstalk hair out of his face, "It must have been cool living in that old house…"

Marcy was grateful for the interruption and nodded, "I guess. Sirius Black lived there once upon the time." Abbie looked up at her with a mixture of curiosity, "Apparently, they used it for Order Headquarters during the second war, although I'm not really sure what the Order was…"

"Order of the Phoenix," Abbie interrupted, her violet eyes studying Marcy as though the information should have been common knowledge, "It was a group of individuals from the first war dedicated to the fight against You-Know-Who. They reinstated the group when the Ministry of Magic was failing to pursue him during the second war. Some of the most legendary Aurors of all time were involved." She stopped for a second, "Your mum was a part of it. As was Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley. Of course, so was Harry Potter. I'm surprised that they would still use the headquarters after it disbanded."

"Well, they still have meetings," Marcy mumbled, "Once grandpa…err…the Minister passed, they moved us there almost immediately. People were always coming in and out." An awkward silence fell over the trio, giving Marcy the distinct impression that one of them was burning to ask a question but suppressing the urge. She gave them both a hard look, causing Abbie to sigh loudly and pull out an old and wrinkled copy of the Daily Prophet from underneath her sea. Abbie handed the paper to Marcy and settled her eyes on the uninteresting ceiling. Charlie averted his to the dancing mermaids on the carpeted floor.

**_MINISTER DIES MYSTERIOUSLY, MALFOY CHILD FAINTS, MAYHEM PROCEEDS AT ST. MUNGO'S_**

The remainder of the article was smeared and unreadable from constant usage, but Marcy could see a strange picture of the waiting room from the night her grandfather had died. In it, photo Marcy (who had been sitting in a rickety waiting room chair) suddenly closed her eyes and began to shake before becoming completely still and sliding like water onto the floor. Photo Andrew caught her, an unusual amount of concern etched all over his black and white face, and in the briefest of moments photo Marcy was conscious and obviously telling the surrounding witnesses of the death.

"Someone took that picture," Abbie said quietly, "It had the communities up in arms. They thought maybe you were poisoned or something. I think the entire Wizarding world thought that it was under attack. Charlie stood by the window all day, afraid we'd get a second article saying you'd died." Marcy saw a faint blush creep up in Charlie's cheeks at the mention of his fear, but she chose to ignore it.

"I had the funniest dream when that happened," Marcy muttered to herself more than to Abbie, "I didn't even notice I passed out. One minute I'm sitting in the chair and the next I'm in the room watching him die. He looked so…so vulnerable. Everyone was standing around hushed and worried and trying to save him," she stopped and sucked back a tear, one of the few she had shed over his passing, "I woke up and just knew he was gone."

Abbie looked at her thoughtfully before getting up quietly and closing the compartment door. She leaned forward onto her knees as she sat back down, excitement and fear dancing in her eyes as she ushered for Charlie and Marcy to lean forward. She whispered, "Marcy…do you think you might have astral projected?"

Charlie laughed as Marcy shot Abbie an inquisitorial look, which had her whisper angrily, "Oh really do you not read? Astral Projection is an out of body experience. Your astral body moves into an astral plane that runs parallel to ours. You get to have two bodies for a little while, one that is conscious and moving, another that is in a dream-like trance. It's a very rare gift. While new witches think that maybe it can be trained, most of the original studies done on astral projection proved it was inherited." Her eyes glazed over with newfound excitement as she continued, "Was your mother able to astral project? It normally runs in families."

Marcy shrugged, "I wouldn't know. Mum didn't like to talk about it. Are you sure this is what I did? It was a one time thing…and it didn't feel like I had two bodies"

"Your that age now Marcy," Abbie interjected, "It isn't too surprising that this would come about. Oh Marcy, you have no idea how exciting this is. Few witches with the power to astral project ever wrote down their experiences. No one really knows how much power the astral body possesses or, for that matter, if you could somehow control your real body. Just think of all the things you could research and learn!"

Marcy felt suddenly sick to her stomach. There was too much flying at her too fast, Arthur Weasley, missing school, the Order, Grimmauld Place, her father's sudden reappearance, and now her new 'power'. She felt like her head was spinning, picking up speed faster and faster as new things were thrown in her direction. The Wizarding world, which had seemed vast and endless to begin with, was suddenly growing in depth and confusion, "I…I have to go to the loo," she muttered out from under her breath and pushed past her two best friends.

She did not bother to look where she was going as she found the loo doors and pulled on the handle. She did not bother to look in the stalls as she closed the door behind her and rushed to the sinks, plunging her hands into the cool water and spraying her face. Makeup that Aunt Hermione had let her borrow flowed down her face as the water drenched the lids of her eyes and the corners of her mouth, but she merely scrubbed it away. Long lines of black fell down her cheeks like snail tracks and pooled at the base of her chin in weird splotchy puddles. She looked a mess.

The click of a lavatory door startled her and she spun around too quickly, tripping over her long robes with her right foot. Marcy did not have the chance to grab behind her for the sink as she started to fall over, bracing herself for a hard crash into the black and green tiles of the loo floor. However, she was startled to land instead with a heavy 'thawump' into the open arms of a very cushiony boy.

The fact that a boy had caught her did not reach her mind for a few long moments as she took in his lean arms and broad shoulders. His hair was hanging over his worry-filled eyes and his lips were parted in a smirking grin as he held her close.

"Andrew," Marcy breathed out, not realizing she had been holding it, "I…I'm in the boys loo aren't I…"

He nodded and laughed slightly, a warm gush of air playing across the bridge of Marcy's nose, "You okay Mar?" he asked, the sudden comfort of their relationship returning after months of awkwardness. Although he moved to right her he did not let go of her arms, his hands falling into a comfortable rest against the small of her back, "You look like hell."

"Yeah well, I just learned something," she responded, pulling out of his arms to sit Indian style on the floor. He followed suit, sitting comfortably across from her so that their knees barely touched, "Remember when I passed out when…when…grandfather died?" Andrew nodded and she grasped his hand and gave it a tiny squeeze, "Abbie seems to think I astral projected into the room. That I somehow…split myself into a different body that could move freely of this one"

Andrew whistled a long breath out between his teeth and settled his eyes on hers, "That's…I'm sure she's mistaken. You just can't astral project without knowing how. Besides, there hasn't been a documented witch or wizard with the ability to do it in…well…since forever"

"But that's what she's thinking and she's Abbie…she's never really wrong." Marcy rebutted. She sighed loudly and felt tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't want this thing, this astral projection thing. It just makes me more of a freak. Back at Highland Developing they always made me out to be some sort of strange…mutation. Look at me. I can't even live normally in the world I'm really from…"

Andrew shushed her loudly, spun her around so her back was to him, and pulled her close, allowing her to settle into his large chest and curl across his abdomen. He ran his fingers through her hair gently as she cried and murmured over and over how she was not a freak at all.

"I'm sorry I'm blubbering," she gulped out between tiny sobs, "Its real silly of me. We didn't talk for months and here I am, being a stupid 14 year old brat…"

"Mar common now…"

"No really Andrew, we haven't had a decent conversation since the Yule Ball," she mustered up, pushing some tears off her face with his pants leg, "You didn't even tell me you made Head Boy. Things got all strange and I don't know why and yet, I still come here and cry to you like a baby because…because…"

"Because…" he pushed.

"Because that's what friends do I guess, even silly ones like us," she said. His muscles tensed at the word friend and she wondered to herself if maybe she had only imagined it.

She turned her head up then and was startled to find him staring at the spot where the crown of her head had been, his face contorted in an odd way, "Andrew…"

"Mar there's something I should tell you…" he started, "Something my dad told me last night before we left."

"Is it real important?" she interrupted, "because if it isn't, I don't know if I can handle anymore information today."

He shook his head no and held her some more. It felt like hours, although she knew that the minutes must have been passing by slowly for no one had come looking for her yet. She wiped her eyes one more time before pulling out of his embrace, slightly taken aback by the lack of heat she felt as she pried herself away from him. She brushed off her robes and fixed her face as best she could as he readjusted his own clothes.

"So…later then?" she asked as she went to open the door.

"Maybe we should leave at different times," he suggested, suddenly looking flummoxed by the words he had said far too quickly, "I mean…so people don't think…"

"Okay," Marcy responded, "You first?" He nodded and, awkwardly, pulled Marcy into one last embrace, "I'm sorry…" he mouthed into her hair before moving back…

His face was suddenly too close to hers, moving at a motion she was not quite sure of, and she turned her head to move away from it. But her angle was all wrong and the kiss that had been initially intended for her curvy cheek bone landed on her bottom lip by mistake.

Marcy froze, unsure what to do. Her eyes slid closed out of natural instinct and she felt Andrew, whose whole body had tensed on the contact, pull back only slightly. What sounded like a sigh, from whom she was not quite sure, filled the loo and, almost instantly, the space between their lips disappeared and he was against her again.

His lips were chapped but deliciously delicate as he pressed them against hers, never once searching for entrance she was not sure she was ready to give. The breath from his nose was falling against hers and he was holding her close against him as he kissed her shortly once, twice, three times.

They pulled apart, almost reluctantly, and comprehension of what had happened dawned on both of their faces as their eyes locked.

_I just kissed Andrew Potter_.

"I uh…I should go…right…" Andrew said, almost frazzled, and quickly sidestepped out of the door.

Marcy touched her fingers to her lips gingerly and sighed loudly to the now empty lavatory. Things for her fourth year had certainly turned around.


	9. Plans

"Marcy, what is this place?" Charlie Lawson asked tentatively, placing his hand against the door that had suddenly materialized in front of his face. His sister Abbie, who considered herself an expert on Hogwarts, was frowning as she traced its unmarred wood face with her fingertips, "What was it Professor said…don't trust things that we can't see where the brain is…"

"It doesn't have a brain you idiot," Abbie interrupted, turning to look at Marcy, who was standing in the center of the hallway with a very large piece of old parchment in her hands. They had not been allowed to look at it the entire way to the indistinguishable hallway, although Marcy had kept her head buried in it, leading them this way and that, mumbling things about Filch and detection as they clamored about, "But I am perplexed. What is this place?"

Charlie watched as Marcy indicated for them to hush and knocked on the door three times, in rapid sequence. The door handle, which was ornate and unlike any others in the castle, turned slowly and opened into a room barely bathed in candlelight. It was dark, musty, and smelled of cobwebs and soot as Marcy hustled them inside, slamming the door behind them before he could even mutter an objection.

They were standing in a rather large study, he noticed almost immediately. Sconces with melting candles lined the walls, covered in a sheen of dust that did not even attempt to conceal its age. There were books that lined two walls, thousands upon thousands of books with moldy and well bent bindings that had titles ranging from the most mundane to the most horrific. A large fireplace lined the farthest wall, the bricks along its face slipped off in strange directions as if it had melted in perfect sequence with the candle wax. The kindle in its base had not been lit, although a large bucket of firewood sat unused in the corner. In the middle of the room the most notable features of all were five large velvet armchairs, each upholstered in one of the house colors. Andrew Potter and Michael Weasley were seated in the burgundy and navy chairs, respectively, and nodded to Charlie in almost a pompous manner.

"What is going on here? Where are we?" he asked as he took the yellow Hufflepuff chair. Abbie crinkled up her nose as she turned to the green chair and sank unappreciatively into it, casting Marcy a slightly apologizing smile as she placed as little skin on the chair as possible. Marcy did not seem to mind as she pulled the silver chair, the one that represented the crest, closer to Andrew and curled her hands together on his lap. Charlie could not help but groan a little under his breath.

"This is the Room of Requirement," she said simply, not bothering to look him directly in the face, "It can become anything you want it to be, as long as you concentrate long and hard enough. This here was the study of the founders of Hogwarts. With the charms placed so heavily on this castle, we thought this might be the best place to discuss our…predicament." She said the last word carefully as she studied Andrew Potter's face, which was tense and unreadable. Her left hand had latched onto his, causing an angry bubble to rise up in Charlie's stomach.

"Are you listening Lawson?" Andrew piped up, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in his voice. Charlie shrugged and nodded on.

"Charlie this is serious. Andrew's in a lot of trouble," Marcy said heavily, her hand still lying comfortably in its position, "We don't really know who or what is after him, but he's the key to the next rising. He is who they'll come after."

"That's…that's absurd Marcy," Abbie interrupted, her face covered in exasperation, "there isn't going to be a third rising and you of all people should be aware of that. Your dad helped to get rid of them all. So did yours Andrew."

"Not all of them," Michael piped in, "Someone went after my parents remember?"

"Besides, evil always exists," Marcy said, "You can't have good without evil. It just doesn't work that way."

Charlie sat quietly in his chair, playing with the soft butter yellow velvet under his fingers. Why was Andrew bloody Potter another Chosen One? The Potter line had always been stupidly famous, what with James Potter and his infamous run in Hogwarts, and then the betrayal of the Black family, and then Harry himself having to fight off You-Know-Who. Did his son have to do it too? Charlie twisted his thumbnail into the fabric until it started to pill and shred. He was not asking for fame, but did that have to mean that the Potter's were the only ones to get it, especially when fame always got you the girl.

It was not that he fancied Marcy, not necessarily anyway. He had always known the way she felt for Andrew, the way she was almost fated to care more for the Potter name than she ever would for him. His was not anything really important and he had come to accept that a very long time ago. He was okay with just taking care of her as a best friend. But Charlie had also seen the way he had treated her, his rollercoaster-ride of emotions that seemed to envelop her. He had barely spoken to her after the Minister's parting and had treated her like some sort of abomination after some sort of run-in on the Express at the beginning of the year. If Charlie was truthful with himself, he cared much more about her well being, something he was sure Andrew cared little about.

"So how are you the key?" Charlie asked lazily, not bothering to look Andrew in the eye.

"A prophecy."

"That's impossible! The hall of prophecy was destroyed years ago!" Abbie yelled again.

"Not quite that kind of prophecy," Andrew interjected, "This one, an evil one, said that I'm the tip of the scale. If I pick good, the wizarding world will be saved. If I pick evil…"

"Well that's easy then isn't it?" Abbie interjected again, "just pick good. You're obviously not a bad person…"

"It can't possibly be that easy," Marcy muttered. She had let go of Andrew's hand, much to Charlie's amusement, but she had busied herself with the silly old parchment and was scanning it nervously now, "If it was that easy, they wouldn't have made a prophecy. They would have just assumed." She looked at Andrew, an emotion bubbling over her eyes that not even the founders themselves could have missed, Charlie reckoned, "So we need to do whatever we can, from now until Andrew turns 18, to keep him safe. For all our sakes," She smiled at him and gripped his shoulder and Charlie felt a part of himself, the part that he assured himself did not fancy Marcy, slip uncontrollably.

"How exactly do you think we are going to do that?" He asked angrily, "We're bloody fourth years."

"That's why you're here. Here's the plan," Michael started.

* * *

Abbie Lawson ruffled her fingers through her short hair as she clamored through the portrait hole into Gryffindor Tower almost three months later. Spring had finally come two weeks prior, melting a good portion of the winter snow off the grounds and towers of the castle. She had spent the morning studying for her Transfiguration final and breaking things off with her boyfriend. The look in his eyes had almost made her take everything back, but the stream of logic that always ran through her head had allowed him to walk away from her. 

She saw her brother, his things packed and bundled around his feet, playing a game of Exploding Snap with what she assumed was his inanimate shadow. She smiled sadly at him as she sunk into the arm of his chair, patting him awkwardly on the head.

"You ready Char?"

He smiled unhappily at the irritating childhood nickname and nodded solemnly. He had always been a very affectionate family-centered child, she remembered fondly, and was sure he was not looking forward to the trip to Ottery St. Catchpole; the opposite direction of their family home in the hills of Ireland.

Three months ago, Abbie would have expected the day he visited Marcy Malfoy's house for the first time to be filled with awkward teenage babbling and unusually sweaty palms. She had assumed that he had taken a fancy to their best friend. But his anger and resentment towards her had just about boiled over in the last months they had spent tagging alongside Andrew Potter and his friends.

Michael and Marcy had suggested that they all spend more time with the Potter boy in an attempt to keep the "evil" out of him. Abbie accompanied him to his study clubs in the evening and Charlie reluctantly followed him, Marcy, and Michael to every Quidditch practice. The group of five ventured together to Hogsmeade and most events around the castle and spent their times between lessons together in the Room of Requirement, researching forms of evil. Michael and Andrew barely studied for their NEWTs and Marcy seemed hardly unscathed by the fact that their OWLs were just around the corner. The girl had seemed desperate as ever to protect Andrew, who would not be 18 and out of the danger of the prophecy for another year. She had even completely abandoned her studies on Astral Projection, although her slips from reality had grown steadier over the course of the year. She had broken almost three times now and Abbie was sure it would happen even more frequently once summer hit full force.

"Let's just go," Charlie said, interrupting her daydream. Michael, Andrew, and Marcy were waiting at the entrance hall.

"Char…"

"I said let's go…" he said again, with more force, dragging his trunk towards the portrait hole. Abbie looked around Gryffindor hall solemnly then, a feeling in her heart screaming that things would never quite be the same again. She had lost Joseph and, with a sinking sensation, she knew he was losing Charlie too.

Even if he swore he did not fancy Marcy in the tiniest bit.


End file.
